赤 - Red
by Red-Like-Lithium
Summary: "We finally made it...Armin..." - And the ocean is stained red.


_A/N: __I don't own Shingeki no Kyojin or the cover image. But I do own what I've written. Enjoy:)  
__AU-ish?_

* * *

It's cold.

The waves had seemed so powerful from the mountaintop. Though here in the bay area, they are calm, weak, lapping at the shores with lackadaisical effort.

The bay is red.

The straps that bind his gear to his frail body keep feeling tighter and tighter with each passing second. There will be rub burns remaining when the 3DMG is finally removed, indentations that will remind everyone of what they have and haven't accomplished. Remnants a journey best forgotten; and yet best remembered. - Tattoos. Scars.

The tears that fall are swallowed by the vast stretch of water. That is, if emotions bother to even show themselves. The scene is grey - no, _red _\- and drowns visual remorse, buries it.

Soldiers line the beach, grimy, tired, _exhausted_. But alive.

Damn it, they're alive.

His hair had grown longer on this mission. Long enough to reach his shoulder blades - shoulder blades that are low, carrying the weight of the undiscovered world on them. He has the hair tied back with a slowly ripping band of rubber, shaved from the inside of his boots. Resourceful? Maybe. All he knows is that it not longer irritates him, no longer sticks to his face when he sweats or cries or the wind picks up. The blonde strands are out of his way, behind his back; like his past.

Over 2000 soldiers had been sent outside of the walls.

Roughly 500 stood before the sea today.

Armin peers over his shoulder silently, expression weary, eyes sunken. - Heart heavy.

The faces of roughly 500 stare out at the never-ending expanse of blue. Of red. Their eyes are empty and their skin is cold and their very souls are beaten and bruised. Clothes are ripped and stained. A few limbs haven't finished the trek. Finger nails are freshly bleeding; whether from working or nervous chewing.

Armin looks down at himself briefly.

Bandages crawl from his abdomen up to his neck, just below his jawline. A case of severe whiplash and more than one open gash. The pain has dulled to an ache by now, though. No one gives him a second glance, anyway. His uniform and emerald cape shield the damage from prying eyes. What one would notice, however, is his absent left hand.

Too many had died.

And yet, a surprising amount stand breathing today.

Behind him, Armin can the feel the presence of comrades - of _nakama_ \- approaching, bloody soles of their feet wading cautiously into the tide, shredded boots deserted up the hill. Looking down, the Survey Corps member can see the scarlet liquid mixing into the ocean, dying it red. He can soon feel a hand on his shoulder, and hear a voice that says, "We finally made it...Armin..."

At first, he can't reply.

For his entire life, all the boy had wanted was to see was the outside world. The rumored snowy peaks, great canyons, misty rain forests, deserts with mounds of sand, and most of all...

Most of all...Armin had longed to see the ocean.

And here he is, ankle-deep, taking in the details of the most fantastic sunset he'd ever dreamed of. The sky is painted all sorts of bright colors. Shocks of orange, streaks of yellow, even a little purple and blue. But mostly, it's splattered with red. Like the aftermath of a war. Like an open wound, the ones he and so many others bear. At the thought, Armin unconsciously reaches for his left side, gently touching the wrapping that ceases the metallic fluid's escape. Where a hand should be, there is nothing. An arm, a wrist...

Yet so many individuals have it much worse.

_Please...take another look..._

This little voice in the back of his head keeps nagging. And Armin heeds it, moving to turn all the way around. His feet planted firm in the mud of the floor, small things called seashells scraping against his skin, he observes the gathered troops. What he'd seen before were the broken hearts of leftover life - ones who had lost too much. Too damn much.

What he'd seen before were those who were merely human, who have suffered and lost themselves in the hell of the odyssey that had gotten them here.

_I am only human_.

But what he sees _now_ is the same. It's the identical image of what he had witnessed moments ago. But there are details that he'd missed. Armin realizes this now. For what he sees are the broken hearts who are gradually being mended, finally discovering a reason to keep living. The ones who had lost too much now smiling through cascading tears, knowing that their friends who had fallen are with them now, standing before the sea.

What he sees now are those who are merely human, and who have suffered and lost themselves, and who are finding a new side to their beings as they gaze out at the horizon.

Their eyes are sparkling.

"Yeah," is his reply after such a long pause.

The hand on his shoulder drops sluggishly. But not before patting him once, signalling a job well down. After all, it had been Armin to strategize most of the mission. It was he that had granted life to these roughly 500 men and women. And it was he who may have been able to save more. Despite what his comrades tell him, Armin blames the deaths of over a thousand on himself, no matter how many times he's told "it couldn't be helped".

But needless to say, he's been reassured.

Reassured that humanity can push onward from here, strive for a future, and _win_. Because these people are celebrating now. Many are weeping, some are laughing, quite a few do both. Soon, soldiers are splashing water on themselves, at each other, ignoring the red that stains it. The satisfaction of reaching the sea is overwhelming and Armin doesn't realize he's grinning until the guy next to him points it out.

_I am only human. And that has gotten me...very far._

Armin bends down a little, sore from riding on horseback for so long. With the hand he has, he reaches down and dips his fingers into the ocean, blood-caked nails washing themselves.

He licks his fingers, tasting the salt.

_Like tears_, he thinks. _The ocean mourns as well._

The sun has almost completely set now. But the sky is still red, the sea is still red, and the healing hearts of mankind are still pumping red through their veins. This is just the beginning. Armin spins on his heel again, feeling another shell slice his toe. He thinks about all they have lost, and all they have gained.

With salt on his lips and determination in his heart, he wades further into the ocean, savoring the feeling of triumph.

.

.

_~Finish~_


End file.
